


Vice

by Gobetti



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aneros, M/M, Sex Toys, Vibrator, fluff? I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gobetti/pseuds/Gobetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave decides to try out a gift he got from John a long time ago. And by "try out" he actually means "find out for how long he can keep the comfortable buzzing of the vibrator stimulating him until he can't take it anymore".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johnsugois](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsugois/gifts).



> Written from a prompt I saw on johnsugois' Tumblr.  
> The toy depicted in this fic is an Aneros Vice, which is a male prostate massager. It's a really good product, and from what I've seen and read about it on the internet, it's, well... really nice. Don't take my word for it, do a little research, too. You won't regret it, pinky promise.
> 
> Anyway, on to the fic! :B

When you decided to actually give Egbert’s gift a try, you never knew that things would ever be this... hard.

Literally.

The quite large anal massager you got from him for your birthday (“can’t get more ironic than this! hehehehe” said the birthday card; you really don’t understand John’s sense of humor sometimes) was something you never expected from John. It came inside a red box, and you just… stared at it for a while, wondering what the fuck John expected you to do with that thing.

Because you sure as hell were _not_ putting it inside of you.

You thought about stuffing the thing back in its box, hide it in the black of your closet, never to see the light of day again, but a large, blue seal on the box with the sayings “Winner – “O” Award – Outstanding product for men” made you a little... well, _curious_ , to say the very least.

You looked at the black massager in your hand, feeling its silky texture, its almost-but-not-quite rigid body, then back at the box.

You sighed.

There’s a reason the internet exists.

So.

First thing you find is how much it costs.

Holy fucking shit what the hell is wrong with Egbert to ever spend this much on you. And on a sex toy. You come to the conclusion he’s crazy and doesn’’t give a fuck about spending lots of money on neat stuff (though you already suspected as much for quite a while).

Though you’re still not sure if you could call this precious little gift “neat”.

Anyway.

The next thing you notice is the reviews.

...okay, maybe this thing isn’t so bad after all.

Third thing you look at is the “how-to-use” that you scoop out of a blog made specifically for this brand of male massagers – you had no idea that even existed what the fuck – because apparently there’s a right way to use it, you can’t just stick it in your pooper and let the magic happen.

So you study.

Purely out of curiosity, of course. It’s not like you’ll ever use it, anyway.

I mean it was nice and all of Egbert of giving you something so... uh, nice, you guess... but you just won’t deliberately stick something in your ass, ever.

...nope. Not happening. Not happening at all.

...yeah.

The last thing you see is a video of a guy using the damn thing, just so you can laugh at how stupid it is. Of course.

Of course.

No other reason whatsoever. Nope. Definitely no reason besides curiosity. Why would there be another reason, why.

Why indeed, you ask yourself.

Once the video is over (all ten of them, after all you made sure your research was meticulous) you look down again at the toy on the table, dick already tight in your pants, precum staining your silk boxers.

You push the button on, and holy crap it really does vibrates oh my god.

You turn it off, holding it gingerly in your palm. It weights a ton beneath your touch, even though you know it’s not heavy at all.

It’s just...

Ugh.

You put it back in the box and place it carefully on the back of your socks drawer, hiding it beneath a few long socks that you only use during summer.

You remind yourself that it’s still there every single day, just in case.

Just in case.

 

\--

 

On a sunny sunday, you wake up and find a note from Egbert on your bedside table.

_went to study with jade on the library downtown! save me a pack of ramen for dinner, okay? thanks! –John._

You stare at the blue post-it for a while, and for some reason you mind goes straight to the new, unused toy on the back of your drawer, and almost instantly, wanders back to the very vivid image of those videos of guys using said toy. You feel yourself getting half hard already.

You jump out of bed and walk straight towards the bathroom. It’s a relatively warm day, so you’re only wearing your favorite silk boxers, and the thought of what you’re about to do sends shivers up your spine, makes it that every brush of the fabric on your member feels a hundred times better than it should. You take care of morning business before eyeing the shower douche with wariness.

You cringe, hesitate, hold the douche shyly, reach in between your legs.

Breathe.

You manage to do it in the end.

You’d rather not get into details, really.

Not now not never.

When you get out of the bathroom, you think about having breakfast for a fraction of a second, but decide against it; better to just get this over with already. Back in your bedroom you feel excitement already pulsing in your veins, making you eager, euphoric, and your heart’s already beating so fast it almost seems like it’ll burst right out of your chest. You grab the lube and the massager from the back of your drawer, strip out of your boxers and lay down on the bed.

Alright.

You can totally do this. No biggie. Yup. Not a big deal at all.

You pour lube onto your finger. Slide it inside you. Ugh. Cold. But bearable.

You put some more lube on your finger. Slide it in again.

After the fourth time you decide you’re lubed up enough, going for the toy instead. You lube it up just as thoroughly, making sure it’s as slippery as a bar of soap in a communal males only shower, and place it properly against your already puckered asshole.

Welp. You’re doing this.

You push it in, just a little, and wince.

You’re fucking making this happen.

The head slides in, and afterwards, the rest of the body goes in easily, though it’s pretty uncomfortable. You grunt, squirm, push it in a bit more, and when it’s all the way in...

Huh.

Unsurprisingly enough (only because you knew that that was supposed to happen), the toy fits snuggly inside you. The anatomic format fits perfectly, and if it wasn’t so thick and for the fact that the head was pressing insistently against your prostate (which was, in retrospect, pushing up against your bladder, wow fuck this feels weird), you’re sure you’d hardly feel it at all.

You fix it up, squirming uncomfortably when its small protrusion presses against your perineum, only increasing the sensation of needing to use the man’s room. But you heard that that’s normal too, so once again, it’s completely and utterly ignored, and so you sit up on the bed, reach down to turn on the vibrator, and

oh.

O-oh.

Oh, whoa. What in the—

“ _Fuck!!_ ”

It’s in the lowest setting, but it’s enough to make you yelp. You bend over facing the floor on the edge of the mattress, erection long gone, sensation of needing to urinate only increasing, but at the same time, that warm feeling in your gut, that heavy pressure, that nagging sensation—

You reach down, grabbing your dick inside your boxers; you have your eyes squirmed shut, and you give it a few strokes with your lube slicked hand. It doesn’t take a minute to get it painfully hard, and you stroke it once, twice, thrice...

“ _S-shit!!!_ ”

Your whole body spasms, making the toy wriggle inside of you, making it press even harder against your prostate, and you downright scream and hold onto your member with a shaky hand as it pulses beneath your fingers. It takes you about three minutes to come down from your orgasm rush, but when you do, you open your eye and look at your cum filled hand, only to find the head of your dick squirting out a glistening bead of precum as the massager inside of you keeps pressing against your prostate insistently.

You feel dizzy, exhausted, and pumped with adrenalin.

You never came so damn hard in your entire life.

You remind yourself to thank John later.

 

\--

 

It’s still the same Sunday. It’s three pm, and you just decided that your bathroom needs to be cleaned up.

You’re wearing a fresh pair of boxers, and inside them, the black aneros vice hums silently, a noise barely perceptible except for anyone who actually tries to listen to it. Its vibration is set on the medium setting, and even though you already came that one time in the morning you’re extremely sensitive still.

You opted for red, cotton boxers, which are pretty comfortable; they’re also skintight, and you always loved the way you looked in them, with your penis tucked away so neatly on the front. Now, though, it’s resting against your inner thigh, half hard, leaking precum every time the massager inside you moves this or that way. The boxers are already uncomfortably damp, but the thrill of having the aneros inside of you, buzzing distractedly, to see just how much and how far you can take it...

Well.

Let’s just say you can’t wait to just lose it when you reach your breaking point.

You’re pouring water down over your feet from a small bucket, humming away a little song, trying to relax and just enjoy the moment

when you hear the front door closing.

Oh, no.

Oh nonononononononoooo—

“Dave? You home?” You hear from the living room. As quick as a lightning bolt, you grab a pair of shorts you wore yesterday from the laundry basket you left outside the bathroom and pull it up your hips, effectively hiding your boner. Just as you’re tying the strings over your waist, John pokes his head inside the bathroom and smiles that big, toothy smile at you.

Oh, god, no.

Please let this not be happening right now.

“Hey, Dave!” he exclaims, and you nod once, trying to keep your cool, but it’s kind of hard when the toy moves around inside of you when you tense up. _Shit_.

“’Sup.”

“You alright, dude? You look a little red in the face. Also, what bug bit you to make you wash the bathroom on a Sunday?”

You shrug, turning around and pouring scouring powder on the floor.

“It’s kind of hot today, man. Figured I’d chill things up in here a little with some water and shit.”

“Oooh, good idea! But anyway, you literally won’t believe what Jade told me today!”

And much to your undying horror, John fucking sits down on the floor and leans against the wall, watching as you scrub the floor with a broom that you keep just for this kind of thing. You thank god for all these years of practicing your pokerface, because deep down you’re grimacing, frowning, downright scowling at him, wondering what the hell made him so chipper and chatty all of the sudden. Why can’t he just leave you be for a while?

The buzzing in your behind starts getting more insistent, partially because you now have an audience, and as much as you’d like to deny it, it’s actually pretty exciting to be caught doing the dirty. It’s like you’re masturbating right in front of John while he’s blissfully unaware of anything unusual.

Fucking hell. Just your luck, really.

Not that you’re complaining though.

Nope. A Strider never complains.

So you just... keep scrubbing the floor. And you keep bending and turning around and laughing at John’s jokes, but any little twitch or turn you make makes your muscles clench, move, even if just a little, and consequently makes the massager press again and again onto your prostate. Every little way you move makes every nerve in your body light up, makes the hair in your neck stand, makes your constricted dick jump inside your boxers.

When the floor’s all nice and clean and you’re rinsing the water to the drain with a squeegee, you know you’re getting fucking close. You’ve had that thing up your ass for four hours now, and in the meantime you had lunch, swept the apartment, made your bed and put away your clothes before deciding to wash the bathroom. Your legs are getting weak, your hands are shaking and your pokerface is breaking. You do your best to face away from John and to keep your replies short and monosyllabic, but John's not that dense; he's starting to notice something’s wrong ith you.

“Uh, Dave... you okay there?”

“Yup. Fucking peachy.” You reply, but your voice kind of staggers right at the end. Your overstimulated prostate gets hit yet again by the buzzing toy when an involuntary spasm runs through you, and you hiss through your teeth, holding the squeegee so tightly your knuckles are going white.

“I don’t think you look too good, tho.” John continues, completely disregarding the fact that you’re breaking down. You notice kind of too late that you’re just standing in the middle of the bathroom, shivering, holding onto the squeegee for dear like, trembling all over for no good reason. You bow down a little, back facing Egbert, and grunt. You have no idea for how long you’ve been standing like this.

“I’m... fine, Egbert. Just... dandy.” You mutter, feeling a warm, eletric jolt running up your spine. You jump a little. “S- _shit!_ ”

“Dude, you’re _definitely_ not okay. You need help?” and now John’s standing, approaching the bathroom door, _fucking great_ , and you try to move, to turn around, but you know that if you move you’ll just move the massager again, and that might just be your demise. From this up close you’re afraid he can hear the low buzz of its vibrator, but you’re so far gone you can barely acknowledge the danger of letting John find out you were getting off while talking to him.

“ _Fffuck_ , John, just... b-back off, I... I need... _a-ah!_ ”

“Here! Does this help?” he asks, and oh my goodness gracious _he just pressed the button on the vibrator_ , setting up the speed to the max, and holy fucking shit the thing is _really_ going at it inside of you, and John’s got his hands on your hips, stepping closer, and you’re sliding down to the floor, dropping the squeegee, resting your forehead on the cold tiles, sweat dripping from your forehead...

“Aaaah... _ng-aah_... J-John...” you moan, but John merely kneels behind you, hugging you with one arm while his free hand pulls your precum slicked penis out of your boxers. He chuckles sensually right behind your ear, running his hand up and down your swollen length and _fuck fuck too much too much just—_

“You really thought I couldn’t hear it?” he teases, squeezing you a little, biting and licking your earlobe, and _shitshitshit...!_

Behind your closed eyelids, everything goes white, and it feels like a million fireworks are exploding somewhere close. You though it to be nigh impossible, but you come harder than you did earlier, and you know you’re shouting, and that the neighbors can probably hear you, but you can’t think straight, you can’t talk, you can’t. You just can’t. So you stay there, half lying, half kneeled on the bathroom floor, panting and waiting for your post orgasm rush to fade out as John milks all the precum left out of you.

“Get it offff...” you manage to whine after a few minutes, the now overly sensitive gland complaining with the stimulation it still suffered, and John makes this little “Oh!” and giggles before reaching back and stuffing his hand inside your boxers, pulling the aneros out slowly.

“Sorry, sorry! I was a little distracted, hehe.” He sighs on the back of your neck, pulling away. You immediately slump down to the floor, nastiness be damned, you’ll wash yourself off later. John lies down next to you, stretching his cum covered hand way away from him and smiling at you. You stare at him with half lidded eyes, body tingling with the remains of your orgasm. “So you liked my present, huh?” he grins and waggles his eyebrows at you, and you chuckle.

“’m not gonna even answer that.” You say, closing your eyes a little.

“But you know... I forgot to give you the rest of your gift!”

“Oh god there’s more?” you ask, eyes still closed, but before you can protest some more, make some snarky comments about how your body won’t be able to take it or how only one is enough already, thankyouverymuch,

John leans closer to you and kisses you on the lips, just a small, firm peck that makes you even dizzier and your skin much more sensitive than before.

You open your eyes just as he’s pulling away, face flushed and a huge smile on his lips.

“Happy birthday, nerd.”

You snort.

“My birthday was four months ago, you dork.”

“Not my fault.” he grins, and you lean in for another kiss just as he’s doing the same.

Guess you’ll be using his gift a lot more often from now on.


End file.
